LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


PEDANTIC   VERSICLES 


BY 


ISAAC   FLAGG 


BOSTON 

PUBLISHED   BY   GINN,   HEATH,   &   CO. 
1883 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1883,  by 

ISAAC   FLAGG, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


J.  S.  GUSHING  &  Co.,  PRINTERS,  BOSTON. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

VERSICLES -3 

PARAPHRASES 23 

HYLETHEN       . •        •        -49 

SONGS  OF  EROS »       •        59 

SYMPOSIUM  METRICUM 77 


VERSICLES 


Hal  —  there -V  a  double  meaning  in  that. 
r 

SHAKESPEARE. 


TO  A  REVOLVING  BOOKCASE. 

I  ^RIEND  of  me  bookworm,  more  than  double- 
faced,  — 

Thereby  above  duplicity,  —  whose  four 

Broadsides  salute  me,  offering  each  a  score 
(Handy  at  this  perusing  elbow  placed, 
To  serve,  by  turns,  its  indolence  or  haste) 

Of  tomes  replete  with  my  peculiar  lore  : 

Not  thy  ingenuousness  concerns  me  more, — 
Beholding  thus  the  phases  of  my  taste 

Successively  revealed  —  grammar  awhile, 
Then  sentiment  (alas  !   not  less  profound), 

And  so  forth  ;  —  no  regards  of  mood  or  style 
Outweigh  a  problem  I  would  fain  propound 

To  men  of  cipher,  —  how  much,  by  the  mile, 
Thou  savest  me  a  year,  in  going  round  ! 


Versicles. 


TO  AN   OIL-STOVE. 

Now  Heaven  assist  me  to  amass 

Thy  attributes  beneath  one  name, 

Imp  of  the  evil  eyes  in  glass, 

Gleaming  with  doubly  wicked  flame ! 

Thou,  though  of  base  metallic  birth, 
And  fed  with  watery  fuel,  won 

From  the  cold  breast  of  mother  earth, 
Dost  warm  me  like  some  little  sun. 

* 
Such  thy  vile  origin,  no  doubt 

To  be  blown  up  I  well  avoid, 
As  I  proceed  to  blow  thee  out, 
Tinny  petroleasteroid ! 


Ver sides.  ^ 

TO  A  STAINED-GLASS  WINDOW. 

SOFT-BLINKING  transom,  from  a  crude  outdoors 
Letting  a  dim,  if  not  religious,  ray 
In  on  the  cultured  drone  —  yet  who,  that  sees 
Through    thy    design,    much-pitted    board,    could 

doubt 

Its  holiness  ?     Ah  no  !   there  is  a  whole 
Gospel  of  sweetness,  mazy  polychrome, 
In  those  weird  conic  sections,  jigsaw-limned, 
And  secondary  colors  (all  of  prime 
Importance  to  aesthetic  nerves),  ranged  not 
With  stale,   Philistine  symmetry  of  pattern, 
To  pall  on  the  cloyed  sense.      What  meant  the 

churl 

Who  glazed  thee  and  confined  thee  in  the  socket, 
When,  in  thin  tones,  with  grin  heretical, 
He  asked  me  if  I  'd  have  it  upside-down, 
Or  downside-up  ?     Blind  scoffer,  he  shall  have 
His  labor  for  his  panes  —  a  putty  man, 
To  chaffer  lewdly  with  a  child  of  light ! 


8  Versicles. 

ULYSSES'  WINE. 

(Abroad.) 

CYCLOPS,  here  's  wine  ;  prithee  wash  down  the 
sickening 

Meal  of  man's  flesh  behind  that  ruthless  jaw. 
See  what  a  drink  I  boast;  an  find'st  it  quickening, 

Grant  I  sail  home,  and  not  descend  thy  maw. 

Man,    that    is    wine !  —  scarce     from    Cyclopean 
presses 

Flowed  the  rich  nectar  each  immortal  sips,— 
Warm  as  far  Phoebus'  ray  the  glebe  caresses, — 

Sweet  as  a  kiss  from  Cytherea's  lips  ! 

Fill  here  again  :   marry,   I  bear  no  malice 

Toward    the    fair    pourer  ;    tell    thy   wretched 

name.  — 
Now,    by    my    eye,    great    Bacchus    tipped    that 

chalice !  — 

Zounds !    and   my  namesakes  touched   it    with 
their  flame ! 


Versicles. 


9 


Neman  ?     More,  more  !  —  Last,   but  not  least,  I 

guzzle 
No-man  !  —  Heigh  ho,  my  head  !     Pluck  off  this 

wreath ! 
Weighs    I'k'    old    bristly    Etna  ;    w'   're    'av'n'    a 

tussle ; 
H-he  's  on  t'-top,  'nd  I  'm-m-m-underneath. 


io  Ver sides. 

CALYPSO'S  WHINE. 

(Strophe.) 

STRANGE  mortal,  whom  Poseidon 
Of  troubles  turned  high  tide  on, 
Because  Kyklops,  one  fine  dawn, 
Woke  up  and  found  his  eye  gone  : 
Why  can't  you  stay  with  me  more? 
Not,  moping  by  the  seashore, 
Tears  for  Penelope  pour  ? 
You  're  certainly  a  new  man, 
To  set  an  earthly  woman 
Above  a  super-human ! 
You  stick  to  one  as  few  can. 
I  don't  know  what  I  had  done, 
If  fate  had  made  me  that  one. 
And,  if  before  't  was  sad  fun, 
This  almost  makes  me  mad  run. 
It  tears  my  very  tissues, 
To  cut  from  hopes  of  bliss  loose, 
And  let  you  go  on  this  cruise ! 
O,  what  a  tyrant  is  Zeus  — 
How  might  I,  might  I  bis  choose ! 
O,  terrible  odd  issues, 
Odysseus  ! 


Versicles.  \  i 


(Antistrophe.) 

GODDESS,  —  if  it  beseem  us 
To  speak  of  that  extreme  muss 
We  had  with  Polyphemus, 
I  'd  rather   hear  the  knave  yell, 
From  now  till  half  his  cave  fell, 
Than  in  this  living  grave  dwell, 
Dubbed  of  the  sea  the  navel. 
If  any  country,  save  Hell 
(You  know  I  had  to  brave  Hell), 
Will  let  a  man  behave  well, 
I   think  I  'd  better  go  there, 
And  not  be  hid  in  nowhere 
By  sweethearts,  never  so  fair. 
And  now,  unless  a  low  snare 
Is  laid  by  Zeus,  I  do  swear 
(You  needn't  bite  your  lip  so), 
I  shan't  propel  that  ship  slow ! 
Slip,  slap  —  my  heart  and  ribs  go, 
Tears  on  excursion-trips  flow, 
In  spite  of  memet  ipso, 
To  get  apo-calypse,  O 

Kalypso  ! 


12  Versicles. 

CIRCE'S  SWINE. 
(Porcellian  Chorus.) 

CIRCE,  Circe,   Circe ! 
Thirst  we,  thirst  we  ! 
First  me  !    First  me  !    First  me ! 
Circe  feed  me,  Circe  heed  me; 
Circe,  white  Circe, 
Circe  seated  there, 
Folded  hands,   flowing  hair : 
Of  that  wand  behind  thee 
Is  no  want  to  bind  me ; 
Who  could,  who   could  fly 
From  the  sty  in  Circe's  eye  ? 

Not  I  !    Not  I  ! 
Harming  charmer,  sorceress ; 
Charming "harmer,  not  the  less: 
Who  wins  of  Circe's  wine, 
Is  won  of  Circe's  wine ! 
Wins  a  curse  he,  what  the  worse  he  ? 
What  the  worse,  worse  we, 
Versiy  versi,  versi? 

Mercy,  mercy ! 
Circe,  Circe,  Circe  ! 


Versicles.  13 

ULYSSES'  WINE. 

(At  home.) 

HIGH-FLICKERING  fagots  streaked  the  walls 
Of  lost  Ulysses'   shadowy  halls. 

Late  sprawling  at  his  regal  board, 
Revelled  the  suitors'   noisy  horde. 

They  gorged  his  cuts  of  beeves  and  swine, 
They  crunched  his  bread,  they  gulped  his  wine. 

Liodes,  deemed  of  bad  the  best ; 
Antinous,  Polybus,  and  the  rest. 

The  aged  bard  who  praised  his  house 
They  made  rehearse  to  their  carouse. 

His  costly  fare  they  spilled  and  spurned ; 
No  morsel  to  the  gods  they  burned. 

They  tossed  his  cups  with  scoff  and  leer, 
They  pulled  his  maids  who  brought  the  cheer. 

They  threw  their  thoughts  where  lay  his  bride, 
And  vowed  right  soon  to  clasp  her  side. 


14  Versicles. 

With  belch  and  shout,  in  ribald  jest, 
Oft  thus  the  one  the  other  addressed  : 

'  Mine  host,  boys,  seems  inclined  to  stay ; 
Let  's  hope  him  back  by  judgment-day!' 

'Ay,  that's  when  madam  means  to  stop, 
And  let  this  weaving-business  drop  ! ' 

*  O,  cur.se  her!  —  she's  a  pretty  thing, 
To  keep  us  waiting  for  a  string  ! ' 

' That  web,  ha  ha!  for  grandpa's  shroud: 
Big  enough  soon  to  cover  a  crowd ! ' 

'  Let  her  hang  off ;  we  're  like  to  thrive, 
At  this  rate,  till  our  turn  arrive  ! ' 

'Enough  said,  and  here  's  to  three  in  one  : 
The  drowned  father,  grandfather,  and  the  son ! ' 

'  All  in  one  boat,  and  that  upset : 

We'll  have  the  lad  with  his  governor  yet!' 

'  Tune  up  that  turtle-shell,  old  boy ; 
Give  us  the  taking-down  of  Troy  ! ' 


Versicles.  15 

'  How  now,  my  filly  ?  —  not  quite  so  cross  ! 
Don't  prance  away  from  the  wooden  horse!* 

'  What  's  that,  daddy  Catgut,  to  spice  a  spree  ? 
Give  us  a  Hymen  Hymenee ! ' 

' Peleus  and  Thet!'     'Theseus  and  Ary ! 

'  Give  us  the  widow  who  never  would  marry  ! ' 

'  That  's  what  's  the  matter !  —  come  down  here 
Pen!' 

'And  show  yourself  to  the  gentlemen!' 
'  All  down  the  centre  ! '     '  Every  couple  go  in  ! ' 
'  Gee  out ! '     '  Who  said  so  ? '     '  Mind  your  taps  ! ' 
,  '  Who  threw  that  mug  ? '     '  No,  that 's  too  thin  ! ' 
'  Get  off  ! '   '  Not  much  ! '   '  We  '11  see '— '  Per-haps ! ' 
'  Give  us  the  Centaurs  and  the  Laps  ! ' 
'  Take  off  his  shoes  ! '     '  You  can't  spell  able  ! ' 
'  Is  this  a  window  ? '     '  Is  this  the  floor  ? ' 
'  Give  us  the  Calydonian  boar ! ' 

*  Who 's  he  ? '     '  What  made  her  ? J     '  Hold  up  that 
table ! ' 


1 6  Versicles. 

'  Just  so  ! '    'All  night ! '     '  Bring  me  one  more  ! ' 

'  He  's  coming  ! '      *  How  many  ? '      '  Who  keeps 
this  stable  ? ' 

'  Don't  shoot ! '     '  Can't  swim  ! ' 
'  What  's  got  me,  boys  ? ' 
'  Who  doused  —  that  glim  ? ' 
'Where's  all  that  — noise?' 


Ver sides.  1 7 

CABALLATION. 

EXCLAIMED  a  fractious  steed  one  day : 
You  say,  Be  hitched,  but  I  say  —  Nay! 

Hold  out  that  corn,  if  you  see  fit ; 
But  mind  now,  I  don't  take  —  a  bit  ! 

Touching  those  things  we  might  term  gallers, 
Old  man,  I  can  receive  no  —  callers. 

In  fact,  you  'd  best  give  over  reaching 
That  buggy,  lest  I  stave  a  —  breach  in, 

And  cast,  of  straps  if  I  find  traces, 

Your  lines  in  quite  unpleasant  places  ! 

• 

Old  horse,  quoth  man,  this  may  be  so  ; 
But  you  '11  be  hitched,  for  wheel  or  whoa  ! 

And  first,  —  while  home  the  whaling  went,  — • 
Will  you  take  that  as  punnish  meant  ? 


1 8  Versicles. 

EPILOGUE. 

READER,  who  standej^l  under  jokes, — 

To  waste  no  word  on  tipsy  folks, 

Who  feel  their  conscious  knees  dissolving 

Before  a  bookcase  stops  revolving ;  — 

But  ye  who  steered  erect  and  slow 

'Twixt  versicles  and  vettigo, 

That  is  (and  no  schoolmaster's   squib  this), 

Steady  'twixt  Scylla  and  Charybdis  :  — 

Ye  boys  and  girls  who  know  what  fun  comes 

From  Greek  and  Latin  and  conundrums  : 

Who  counts  me,  for  professors'  wages, 

The  precious  puns  in  these  few  pages  ? 

No  escapade  escape  your  eyes, 

Italic  set  or  otherwise, 

And  proper  forfeiture  be  paid 

For  sally  found  where  none  was  made. 

Hand  in  a  full  classification 

(Missing  no  hit  at  derivation) : 


Versicles.  19 

How  many  sing-,  how  many  double, 

How  many  trip-,  how  many  trouble  ; 

The  hard,  the  soft,  the  gay,  the  sad  ones, 

And  —  now  be  careful,  girls  !  —  the  bad  ones. 

Be  careful  too  (beware  the  dog !) ' 

And  glean  out  well  the  epilogue. 

That  lad  or  lass  shall  be  my  pride,  who 

Knows  better  what  I  do  than  I  do. 


2O  Versicles. 

EPIGRAMS. 

DEAR  boys,  precociously  inclined 

To  teach  your  tutors  their  remissness  : 

That  student  busies  best  his  mind, 

Who  studies  most  to  mind  his  business. 


WHICH  tougher  builds  the  student  bone, 
Platonic  Greek,  or  mathematics  ?  — 

Antics  of  quantities   unknown, 

Or  quandaries  of  knowing  Attics  ? 


STRIVE  on  indifferent,   charming  girl,  to  seem  ! 
That  moves  me  not  in  different  wise  to  dream  : 
Though  your  indifference  were  in  me  amiss, 
Here  's    room   for   hope  —  in   difference    such  as 
this. 


Ver sides.  2 1 

WHAT  dolts  as  partners  of  their  lives 
Fine  women  take  !    has  oft  been  said  : 

These  might  rejoin,  What  frights  of  wives 
Wise  men  are  satisfied  to  wed ! 


NOT  rhyme,  but  reason  genius  shows  !  — 
Brays  many  a  bungler,  in  his  season ; 

Then  prints  —  what  was  not  meant  for  prose, 
But  leaves  the  world  to  guess  the  reason. 


WHO  slights  that  tongue  yclept  the  mother, 
Shall  win  no  favors  from  another. 


o* 
^C/VLjFC 


*l£ 


PARAPHRASES 


THE    FESTIVAL    OF   ADONIS. 


(See  the  fifteenth  idyll  of  Theocritus,} 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 

MRS.  GORGO.  MRS.  PRAXINOA. 

EUTYCHIS,  her  maid.  EUNOA,     | 

FIRST  SPECTATOR.  PHRYGIA,  J 

SECOND  SPECTATOR.  ZOPYRION,  her  son. 

AN  OLD  WOMAN. 


SCENE  I.  -=-  Mrs.  Praxinod's  House  at  Alexandria. 
GORGO  (to  Eunoa,  the  maid,  who  opens  the  door}. 

Is  Praxinoa  in  ? 

PRAXINOA  {appearing  behind  and  answering  in  person}. 

Well,  she  is  —  if  that  's  all ! 

So,  at  last,  madam  Gorgo,  you  concluded  to  call  ! 
See  a  chair  for  her,  Eunoa, — with  a  cushion  on  't 
too. 


26  Paraphrases. 

GORGO. 

O,  don't  put  yourself  out ! 

PRAXINOA. 

There,  be  seated,  now  do ! 

GORGO  {sinking  exhausted  on  the  chair). 

My  sakes,  I  'm  most  dead  !     Why,  Praxinoa,  there, 
It 's  a  wonder  I  Ve  reached  you  alive,  I  declare ! 
Such  a  crowd  in  those  streets,  such  a  myriad  of 

folks ! 
Soldiers   marching  and   riding,  top-boots  and  red 

cloaks ! 

And  the  journey  here,  perfectly  endless !    Dear  me, 
Why  did  n't  you  live  further  off,  Mrs.  P.  ? 

PRAXINOA. 
I  tell  you,  it 's  just  what  that  lunatic  meant ! 

We  must  n't  be  neighbors  —  of  course  not  —  so  he 

went  t 

To  the  eends  of  creation,  and  hired  this  hole  ! 
Just  to  spite  me!     I  know  him  —  drat  his  stingy 

old  soul ! 

GORGO. 

Don't  speak  of  your  consort,  my  dear,  in  that  style  ! 
And  your  own  little  boy  in  the  room  all  the  while. 


Paraphrases.  27 

Only  see  how  he  stares,  at  such  words  from  his 

ma! 
No,  no,  Zopery  darling,  she  don't  mean  your  pa. 

PRAXINOA. 
The  brat  does  understand,  as  I  live ! 

GORGO. 

Nice  papa ! 

PRAXINOA. 

This  con-sort,  as  you  call  it,  a  few  days  ago 
(When  we  say  t'other  day,  that  means  always,  you 

know) 

Went  to  buy  lily-white,  for  my  personal  use, 
And  came  back  here  with  whitewash,  the  great, 

silly  goose ! 

GORGO. 

Mine  's  precisely  the  same,  death  on  dollars  and 

cents ! 
Sure  to  make  extra  work,  at  whatever  expense  : 

Bought  the   scrapings  of  somebody's  ragbag  for 
yarn 

Only  yesterday  —  seven  shillings,  and  not  worth 
one  darn ! — 


28  Paraphrases. 

But  come  now,  Praxinoa,  put  on  your  best  things 
And  get  ready  ;  I  want  you  to  go  to  the  king's 
And  see  the  Adonis.     They  have  it  this  year 
In  Ptolemy's  own  palace ;  indeed,  as  I  hear, 
Our  good  queen  is  preparing  a  perfect  gem  of  a 

show ! 

PRAXINOA. 

O,  everything  's  grand  in  grand  houses,  I  know ! 

GORGO. 

Yes,  but  then,  you  '11  have  something  to  tell  of,  if 

you  go,  — 
What  you  saw  there  —  to  them  that  did  n't  see  it : 

come,  come, 
It 's  time,  and  more  too  ! 

PRAXINOA. 

Lord,  if  I  was  like  some  ! 
No  work,  and  six  holidays  out  o'  the  seven  ! 
Pick  my  sewin'  up,  Eunoa.     Merciful  heaven  ! 
Stick  it  right  in  my  way  again,  lazybones,  do ! 
Cats  can  snooze,  but  they  can't  hold  a  candle  to 
you  ! 


Paraphrases.  29 

• 

Stir  your  stumps  !  Water  first  here  —  warn't  it 
water  I  said  ? 

And  she  had  to  bring  soap !  Well  —  there,  yes, 
pour  ahead  — 

Not  quite  so  much  neither,  slobberhead,  if  you 
please  ! 

Who  asked  you,  young  puppy,  to  douse  my  che- 
mise ? 

There  now,  stop  ;  I  'm  as  clean  as  kind  Heaven 
thought  best. 

Fly  round  there :  fetch  the  key  of  the  big  camphor 

chest.  — 

GORGO. 

Why  Praxy,  that  dress  !    You  look  heavenly  in  it ! 
Let  me  know  what  it  cost,  this  identical  minute ! 

PRAXINOA. 

Don't  mention  it,  now  really  I  daresn't  confess 
(Howsumever  I  do  set  the  world  by  the  dress), 
For,  Gorgo,  it  just  cost  a  ri-dic-ulous  price ! 

GORGO. 
Well  /  would  n't  care  neither,  it  does  set  so  nice ! 


30  Paraphrases. 

PRAXINOA. 

Well,  I  reckon  you  're  pretty  near  right  about  that! 

Come,  Euny,  my  shawl  —  and  take  and  tie  on  my 
hat, 

Jaunty,  so  !  —  No  siree,  Bub,  you  ain't  goin'  too ! 

Hoss  bites  !  Hobbledy-gobbledy,  teeth  like  tomb- 
stones !  Boo-hoo, 

Bawl  as  much  as  you  please,  but  it  never  will  do 

To  have  cripples  !  —  take  him,  Phrygia  (we  can't 
wait  any  more), 

Get  his  playthings ;  call  the  dog  in ;  and  bolt  the 
street-door. 


.    Paraphrases.  3 1 

SCENE  II. — The  Street  and  the  Palace-entrance. 

PRAXINOA. 

My  stars,  what  a  crowd !  Bless  me,  this  is  a  sticker ! 
Shall  we  ever  sail  through  it  ?  Thick  as  ants,  if 

not  thicker ! 
Well  there  's  one  thing  :  thank  our  Ptolemy,  since 

his  good  father  died, 

And  became  a  bright  angel,  we  can  step  outside 
Of  our  houses  without  goin'  into  conniptions 
At  the  very  idee  o'  them  bloody  Egyptians  ! 
For  first-class  garrottin',  in  real  handsome  style, 
Give  me  chaps  as  have  trotted  the  bogs  of  the 

Nile !  — 

Sw-ee-test  Gorgy  !  what  is  to  become  of  us  ?  See 
Them  cav'lry,  right  on  to  us  !  Don't  run  over  me, 
My  good  sojer-boy !  Jiminy,  how  that  red  one  did 

rare 
On  his  hind  hoofs !     Did  you  ever  ?     He  's  fierce 

as  a  bear ! 
(You  bold  hussy,   Eun,  don't  you  know  how  to 

run  ?) 


32  Paraphrases. 

Now  he  '11  kill  that  man  on  him,  just  as  sure  as  a 

gun  ! 
That  child  did  do  a  blessed  good  thing,  when  he 

staid 
Safe  to  home ! 

GORGO. 

There,  Praxinoa,  don't  be  afraid  : 
We  're  behind  'em  at  last,  and  they  're  on  their 
own  ground. 

PRAXINOA. 

Well,  I  feel  that  my  forces  are  comin'  around  : 
If  there  's  anything  can  cause  my  whole  corpus  to 

quake, 

It 's  a  hoss,  and  that  cold,  clammy  critter,  a  snake  ! 
Come  along,  there  's  an  ocean  of  folks  in  our  wake  ! 

GORGO  (to  an  old  woman  moving  in  the  opposite  direction) . 

From  the  palace,  eh,  aunty? 

OLD  WOMAN. 

Yes,  chillun.  I  be  ! 

GORGO. 
Is  it  easy  to  get  in  ? 


Paraphrases.  33 

OLD  WOMAN. 

Try  it,  sissy,  and  see ! 
Troy  was  catched  and  walked  into  by  never-say- 

dyin'  : 
Lor,  my  handsome  young  gal,  there  ain't  nothin' 

like  tryin' !  — 

GORGO. 

Dear  me,  what  a  perfect  old  oracle  she  was  : 
Had  to  treat  us,  free  gratis,  to  classical  saws ! 

PRAXINOA. 
These  old  women,  I  vum,  it  beats  all,  what  they 

do  know  : 
Why,  they  're  posted  on  Jupiter's  doin's  with  Juno ! 

GORGO. 
P-r-axy,  look  at  those  doors  !     Here  's  the  biggest 

crowd  yet ! 
We  are  in  for  it  now,  I  'm  a  thinking ! 

PRAXINOA. 

You  bet  ! 

Gorgo,  give  us  your  hand  ;  grip  now !    Eunoa,  you 
Take  Eutychy's,  don't  drop  it,  you  're   undone  if 
you  do  ! 


34  Paraphrases. 

Now  let 's  go  in ;  all  together !     Stick  to  us  like 
a  flea, 

Euny  ;    grit  your  teeth  good  !      Here  we  go  !  — 
me-r-cy  me ! 

There  's  my  summer  silk,  Gorgo,  gone  up  !     What 

vexation, 
Rent  like  that !     For  God's  sake, 

(to  First  Spectator,  close  behind  her} 

as  you  hope  for  salvation, 
Mister,  see  to  my  shawl ! 

FIRST  SPECTATOR. 

Ma'am,  in  my  situation 
Less  is  seen  than  is  felt ;  still  I  '11  see — as  I  am! 

PRAXINOA. 
Well,  my  soul  —  and  my  body  —  this  is  a  sweet 

jam! 

I  've  been  took  in  tight  places  afore,  but  I  vow 
If  I  knowed  just  what  pigs  were  at  pushin'  till  now ! 

FJRST  SPECTATOR  (assisting  to  extricate  the  two  ladies} . 

Cheer  up,  my  good  woman,  we  are  all  high  and 
dry. 


Pa  raph  rases.  3  5 

PRAXINOA. 
And  may  you,  good  sir,  find  yourself  not  dry,  but 

high! 

For  a  year  and  six  months,  for  escortin'  us  by.  — 
Gorgo,  that  's  what  I  call  a  young  man  of  some 

breedin'.  — 
Airii  they  givin'   our  Eun   there   a   healthy  old 

squeezin' ! 
Bust  through  there,  poor  sinner  —  now  !  —  good  on 

your  head ! 

All  aboard,  every  woman  's  inside  !  —  as  he  said, 
When  he  locked  up,  and  raised  his  hymeneal  shout, 
With  him  on  the  inside  and  her  on  the  out. 


36  Paraphrases. 

SCENE  III.  —  The  Interior  of  the  Palace. 

GORGO. 

My  goodness,  quick,  Praxiny,  do  come  this  way ! 
Take  a  look  at  these  tapestry  pictures,  I  say, 
Before    anything!      I    never,    what    sweet    pretty 

things ! 
You  '11  declare  they  set  fairies  a  weaving  for  kings. 

PRAXINOA. 

Saints  alive  !  where  on  airth  now,  I  just  would  like 
to  know, 

Did  they  scare  up  the  artists  that  drawed  for  this 
show  ? 

Now  just  look  at  them  figgers  !  —ain't  they  power- 
ful correct  ? 

How  is  that,  eh,  for  nateral,  chromatic  effect  ? 

They're  actooally  livin',  they  ain't  wove  —  not  in 
the  least ! 

There,  I  always  said  man  was  a  nice,  clever  beast !  ~ 

And  if  there  ain't  he  himself,  Wenus's  handsome 
young  lover, 


Paraphrases.  37 

On  a  silver-legged  sofy,  with  dark  purple  cover ! 
La  suz  !  ain't  his  visage  just  a  spectacle  to  gaze  on  ? 
Why,  them  whiskers,  they  'd  inflame  the  tempera- 
ment of  an  Amazon  ! 
/  don't  blame  her  for  feelin'  lonesome,  without  her 

Adonis, 
When  he  's  trav'lled  back  to  Hell  behind  Pluto's 

black  ponies ! 

SECOND  SPECTATOR  (at  a  little  distance,  in  the  crowd}. 

Travel    back    there   yourselves,   you   infernal    old 

cronies ! 
Stop  your  quacking  !  —  They  '11  have  the  house 

down,  with  the  twang 
Of  their  broad  Doric  brogue,  and  their  outlandish 

slang ! 

PRAXINOA. 

My,  my!  who  's  the  feller  ?  — 

{spying  hint]  sonny,  where  did  you  grow  ? 
It 's  a  lot  of  your  biz,  whether  we  quack  or  crow  ! 
Just  command  your  own  lackies  !    Ain't  you  nabbed 
the  wrong  goose, 


38  Paraphrases. 

When  you  order  round  ladies  from  great  Syracuse  ? 
And  I  '11  tell  you  somethin'  else,  if  your  noddle  's 

in  doubt : 
Warn't  it  Corinth,  where  our  forefathers  used  to 

hang  out  ? 
That  was  Bellerophon's  place,  him  as  once  druv 

Pegasus ! 
Slang?    we  sling  the  straight  lingo  o'  the  Pelo- 

ponnasus  ! 

Can't  a  Dorian  lady,  without  bein'  sot  on, 
Wag  her  own  mother's  tongue  ?     He  ain't  born 

yet,  nor  thought  on  — 
Lord  bless  us!  —  that's  a  goin'  to  set  up  for  our 

boss ! 
Well  I  guess  not!     Come,  I  wouldn't  —  look  at 

here  now,  old  hoss  — 
Be  a  countin'  o'  my  chickens  —  that  is,  if  I  was 

you  — 
Till  the  dear  little  critters  begin  to  *peck  through  ! 

GORGO. 
Hush,  Praxy,  be  quiet !    They  've  lifted  the  curtain  : 


Paraphrases.  39 

We  're  to  have  a  sweet  song  from  that  lady,  for 

certain, 
About  poor,  dear  Adonis.     It  's  the  same  prima 

donna 

That  had  the  bouquets  fairly  showered  upon  her 
Last  year.     How   I   wish   I  'd  a  brought  one  to 

chuck  her ! 
Sh-h  !  —  don't    you  perceive    she  's   preparing  to 

pucker  ? 


40  Paraphrases. 

POLYPHEMUS   TO   GALATEA. 

(See  the  eleventh  idyll  of  Theocritus. ) 

FOR   love  no  medicine   exists,   according   to   my 

notion, 
Friend  Nicias,  —  be  it  in  the  shape  of  plaster,  pill, 

or  potion,  — 
Except  the  Muses  !     That  's  a  drug  with  no  wry 

face  behind  it, 
And  brings  immediate  relief :  the  trouble  is  —  to 

find  it! 
I  'm  stating  patent  facts,  methinks,  to  one  in  your 

position, 

A  poet  favored  of  the  Nine,  as  well  as  a  physician. 
No  other  remedy,  at  least,  — to  take  a  case  be- 
tween us  — 
Would  help  my  rustic  countryman,  the  youthful 

Polyphemus, 
In  the  old  time,  when  he  was  dead  in  love  with 

Galatea, 


Paraphrases.  41 

Who  used  to  swim   Sicilian  seas  —  and  Cyclops 

used  to  see  her ! 
He  sent  no  roses,  apples,  locks  of  hair  to  prove 

his  passion, 
But  made  a  business  of  the  thing,  in  downright 

crazy  fashion. 
His  flocks  would  turn  untended  home  to  fold  from 

flowery  pasture, 
While  at  the  wet  and  weedy  shore,  from  morn  till 

night,  their  master  — 
One  more  of  Venus'  victims  (you  know  how  she 

likes  to  use  'em),  — 
Would  pine  away,  and  sing  away  —  the  Nereid  of 

his  bosom. 
He  found  the  physic,  I  repeat,  and,  perched  above 

the  ocean 
On  a  high  rock,  did  thus  outpour  the  flood  of  his 

emotion. 

"O  Galatea,  glorious  girl,  don't  put  your  feller  off! 
(Cream-cheese,  my  gracious  !  ain't  more  white  ;  no 
lamb  ain't  half  so  soft !) 


42  Paraphrases. 

Don't  be  a  skittish  calf,  don't  be  a  grape  with 

puckery  sap ! 
Comin'  that  game  o'  comin'  out  just  when  I  take 

a  nap, 
And  when  I  wake  —  there,  cuss  my  luck  !  —  dive 

in  again  kerslap  ! 
You   run    like    any  sheep   as    spies  a  gray  wolf 

glarin'  at  her  : 
But  as  for  me,  my  girl,  look  here,  I  '11  tell  you 

what 's  the  matter  ! 
I  know  the  day  when  I  got  smashed :  that 's  when 

you  went  for  posies, 
And  my  old  mother  went  along  —  and  me,  to  steer 

your  noses. 
I  had  the  first  squint  at  you  then,  and  since  I  first 

knocked  under,  - 
There  ain't  no  peace  for  Polypheme  —  but    you 

don't  care,  by  thunder  ! 
I  guess   I   see   what   for  you  run  :    yes,    yes  !    I 

should  n't  wonder 
If  this  'ere  one  long  shaggy  eyebrow  made  you 

kind  o'  skeery, 


Paraphrases.  43 

Spannin'  my  mug  from  ear  to  ear ;  and  this  one 

ogler,  deary  ! 
And  then  the  nose  sets  on  the  lip  a  trifle  flat,  to 

pass  :  — 
But  what 's  that,  when  a  feller  drives  a  thousand 

sheep  to  grass, 
And  milks  no  end  o'  goats  and  ewes,  and  drinks 

the  strippin's  straight, 
With  cheeses,  the  whole  blessed  year,  piled  round 

him  by  the  crate  ! 
As  to  performin'  on  the  flute  —  if  music  's  to  your 

likin'  — 
There  ain't  a  Cyclops'  mother's  son  can  tune  her 

up  as  I  can  : 
Tootlin'  at  every  hour  o'  the  night,  in  every  sort  o* 

weather, 
All  about  you,   my  pretty  pippin-sweet,  and  me 

together  ! 
And  ain't  I  a  raisin'  eleven  little  fawns  I  catched 

up  where  my  place  is, 

To  'muse  you  when  I  ain't  to  home  ?  —  they  Ve  all 
got  spotted  faces  — 


44  Paraphrases. 

Four  buily  baby-bruins  too  !    Come  up  and  see  'em 

play,  sis  ! 
Come  up,  and  scrape  a  nice  soft  nest  right  on  my 

cabin-floor, 
And  let  old  brindled  Ocean  bust  his  gullet  at  the 

shore ! 
What  kind  of  a  stall  is  that  o'  hisn,  to  'commodate 

a  lady  ? 

Come  up  to  mine,  and  cultivate  a  taste  for  some- 
thin'  shady  ! 
There  's  laurels  there,  and  cypresses  as  lith  and 

slick  as  you  be ! 
And  creepin'  ivy,  and  vines   (them  grapes  shine 

up  to  any  ruby  !) 
And  water?  —  when  your  whistle  wants  a  wettin' 

in  the  future, 
Old  bristly  Etna's   snowy  knob  slings  down  the 

stuff  to  suit  you  !  — 
That's  all  very  fine,  I  hear  you  say  —  if /warn't 

quite  so  hairy  ! 
Lord  bless  you !  don't  I  mean  to  take  a  singein' 

when  I  marry  ? 


Paraphrases.  45 

The  wood  's  all  cut  and  dried,  and  where  's  the 

girl  to  touch  her  off  quick  ? 
I  'd  let  you  burn  my  liver  out,  or  this  one  precious 

optic ! 
Where  'd  I  be  then?  —  O,  hang  it  all,  why  warn't 

I  born  a  whale  ? 
With  two  old  paddle-wheels  o'  fins  and  seven-hoss- 

power  tail  ? 
I  'd  make  one  scoot  down  there,  and  kiss  that  hand 

o'  yourn  —  that  is, 
If  you  won't  let  me  on  your  mouth,  —  and  fetch 

white  crocuses, 
Or  else  a  poppy-blow  with  soft  red  petals  to  her 

phiz. 
One  on  'em  blossoms  when  it  's  cold,  t'other  in 

the  tepid  season, 
So  I  ,could  n't  bring  'em  both  to  once,  you  see,  — 

it  don't  stand  to  reason. 
I  '11  learn  to  swim,  you  bet  I  will !  my  duck,  —  in 

darn  short  order, 

When  the  next  ship  sails  by  as  has  a  swim-profes- 
sor aboard  her. 


46  Paraphrases. 

Perhaps  then  I  'd  find  out  what  't  is  you  find  so 

mighty  nice 
In  that  brine-tub !     Now,   Gaily,  take  a  piece  o' 

good  advice  : 
Come  out  !  and  when  you  've  come,  forget — like 

me,  a  sittin'  now 
On  this  'ere  rock  —  to  go  back  home:  there  ain't 

no  tellin'  how 
I  wish  you  wanted  to  live  with  me,  and  feed  and 

milk  my  critters ; 
And  help  me  change  my  milk  to  cheese,  a  droppin' 

in  the  bitters  ! 
That 's  just  what  we  'd  be  a  doin'  to-day,  if  't  warn't 

for  that  old  sinner, 
My  mother!  —  seen  me  all  this  time   a   growin' 

thinner  and  thinner, 
And  ain't  said  one  good  word  yet  for  me  to  you  ! 

O,  bosh,  I  know  her  ! 
I  '11  punch  her  head,  I  '11  pound  her  toes,  I  swear 

I  '11  go  clean  through  her ! 
If  she  don't  know  what  't  is  to  feel  this  way,  by 

dam  I  '11  show  her  !  — 


Paraphrases.  47 

Ah,  Cyclops,  Cyclops  !  ain't  you  nigh  the  point 

o'  sloppin'  over  ? 
If  you  was  to  home  a  pilin'  cheese,  or  rakin'  up 

the  clover 
To  give  them  lambs,  perhaps  you  'd  be  behavin' 

as  you  'd  ought  to  : 
One  nanny-goat  in  hand  is  worth  two  dozen  in 

the  water  ! 
Just  give  those  damsels  on  dry  land  a  chance  ; 

it  's  my  idea 
You  '11    find    yourself    another    girl    as   neat    as 

Galatea. 
They  all  giggle,  if  one  says  '  Kiss  me,  Clops,'  and 

I  say  '  Wait  and  we  '11  a  — ' 
Hi  hi!  it 's  clear,  on  terra  firm  I  'm  just  a  roarin' 

peeler  !  " 

Thus  Cyclops  cossetted  his  love  Pierian  style ; 
and  these 

Effusions  worked  the  cure  which  can't  be  pur- 
chased of  M.  D  's. 


HYLETHEN 


bcu  SBcrgcn  tft  grcifyeit!     S)cr  §ciucf)  bcr  ©riifte 
@tcigt  nid)t  fyinauf  in  bte  veinen  £itfte ; 
S)ie  SSett  tft  ttolltommcn  iiberatl, 
3So  bcr  2)Zen(d)  nid)t  Ijtnfommt  mit  fetncr  dual 


SCHILLER. 


HYLETHEN. 

T  T  7HERE  the  torrent  swiftest  flows, 

Where  dark  rocks  the  stream  oppose, 
Where  the  white  foam  sails  away, 
There  we  hold  the  trout  at  play. 


Where  above  the  crystal  tide 
Frowns  the  rugged  mountain-side, 
Echoing  hoarsely  to  the  call 
Of  each  impetuous  waterfall, 
That  leaps  from  terrace  mossy-brown, 
To  pebbly  basin  plunging  down. 


52  Hy  let  ken. 

Where  the  green  and  dizzy  wave, 
Reeling  through  a  granite  cave, 
Laps  the  stony  barriers  round 
With  a  faintly  gurgling  sound, 
Till  it  gathers  strength,  and  shoots 
Out  again  beneath  the  roots 
Of  a  sturdy  hemlock-stem, 
Giant  warder  of  the  glen, 
With  head  bathed  in  the  morning  beam, 
And  dewy  foothold  by  the  stream. 

Where  through  many  a  cloven  ledge, 
That  yawns  apart  with  piny  edge, 
Faster  pours  the  torrent  yet, 
Or  where  its  scattered  waters  wet 
Broad  rocky  tables  of  the  hill, 
Spread  to  the  sun  uprising  still, 
Or  where  it  breaks  in  twain,  and  glides 


Hy  let  hen.  53 

Down  a  steep  islet's  fretted  sides, 

Hardly-severed  streamlet-pair  — 

Swift  to  rush  together,  where 

On  some  gaunt  and  hoary  birch 

The  staid  kingfisher,  from  his  perch, 

Watches  with  a  sidelong  look 

The  bubbling  mazes  of  the  brook, 

Before  it  softly  falls  to  rest, 

Wooed  to  stillness  on  the  breast 

Of  a  forest-sheltered  pool, 

Whose  darkened  grotto,  by  the  cool 

Leafy  border  shut  to  view, 

Lets  but  one  ardent  sunbeam  through  — 

One  amber  shaft  from  brink  to  brink 

Where  the  purling  eddies  sink, 

And  a  rainbow  in  the  spray 

Where  we  hold  the  trout  at  play. 


54  Hylethen. 


Rumbling  chasm,  ringing  fall, 
Shadowy  marge,  and  bowlders  white ; 

All  in  sympathy  with  all, 
Harmony  of  dark  and  bright ; 

Ever  changeful  monotone, 
Earth's  divine  unconscious  hymn, 

Blending  with  the  lull  of  noon  — 
Filled  are  the  senses  to  the  brim, 

The  soul  immersed  in  Nature's  own : 
As  the  pale  night-born  dewdrops  fly 
The  climbing  archer  of  the  sky, 

Is  each  untimely  passion  flown ; 
Nor  turns  the  inward  eye  to  see 
That  which  might,  yet  may  not  be. 


Hylethen.  55 

Where,  from  its  midway  resting-place 
Freshly  bounding  to  the  chase, 
With  broader  deeper  stronger  flow 
Sweeps  the  silvery  flood  below 
Gray  turrets  of  the  black  ravine, 
Around  moist  shores  of  reedy  green, 
That  hem  the  violet-sprinkled  glades 
Where  sunshine  and  the  vying  shades 
Of  mingled  oak  and  maple  play, 
Winding  its  intercepted  way, 
Laving  the  worn  and  riven  base 
Of  walls  with  lichen-wrinkled  face, 
Which  lowly  creepers  close  entwine, 
'Mid  tufts  of  flaming  columbine, 
Or  welling  tremulously  out, 
By  jealous  foliage  clasped  about, 
Where,  up  the  widening  vista,  gleams 
The  smile  of  evening's  tempered  beams, 


56  Hylethen. 

And  lures  the  current  on  to  gain 
The  goal  of  valley  and  of  plain, 
Far  from  its  limpid  mountain  source, 
Steering  a  vague  impatient  course 
By  crimson  belt  and  gilded  crest. 
Of  vapory  legions  in  the  west. 

Where  the  ripples  dimly  fade, 
Some  sudden-springing  fish  has  made, 
As  under  bank  and  bushy  mound 
The  sunset-shadow  closes  round, 
And  damps  the  glow  and  bursts  the  spell, 
That  lingered  where  the  last  tinge  fell 
Across  the  willow-guarded  bed 
Of  quiet  waters,  blindly  led 
To  find  a  pathless  destiny, 
Merged  in  river  and  in  sea. 


Hy  let  hen.  57 

Hark  !  —  where  chants  beyond  the  rill 
One  weirdly-distant  whippoorwill, 
Plaintive'  harbinger  of  night  — 
Quenched  is  a  day's  unsullied  light, 
Too  rueless,  when  it  dawn  again, 
To  dawn  upon  the  haunts  of  men. 

Where  the  torrent  swiftest  flows, 
Where  dark  rocks  the  stream  oppose, 
Where  the  white  foam  sails  away, 
There  we  hold  the  trout  at  play» 


SONGS   OF   EROS 


AESCHYLUS. 


SONGS    OF   EROS. 


the  Spring    from  out  the  year, 
Take  from  Spring  her  flowers  ; 
Let  no  smiling  bud  appear, 

Quench  the  glowing  hours  : 
Then  take  Eros,  and  his  praise, 
Eros,  Eros  from  my  days  ! 


From  the  red  rose  take  her  thorn,  — 
Where  were  thorn  unfitter  ?  — 

Let  no  blossom  sweet  be  born 
With  a  tinge  of  bitter  : 

Then  take  Eros,  and  his  smart, 

Eros,   Eros  from  my  heart  ! 


62  Songs. 

Turn  the  home-bound  carrier-dove, 
Like  an  arrow  speeding  : 

Will  she  stay  her  flight  of  love, 
Frost  or  tempest  heeding  ?  — 

Eros  hies  where  he  is  bent, 

May,  or  may  he  ne'er  repent  ! 


CHILD  of  the  skies, 
Maid,  —  as  thou  a  rt  ; 
Star  of  mine  eyes, 
Heaven  of  my  heart  : 

Draw  thou  but  near, 
All,  all  is  light ! 
But  disappear, 
Lo,  it  is  night ! 


Songs.  63 

Day  binds  a  gem 
Over  Night's  brow 
(My  diadem, 
Beauty,  art  thou)  ; 

And,  when  he  hides 
Love's  sign  away, 
Twilight  abides, 
Saved  of  its  ray. 

So  come  thy  smile 
Oft,  as  my  dawn  ; 
Light  me  the  while 
Thoughts  of  thee  gone  ! 

Star  of  mine  eyes, 
Heaven  of  my  heart  : 
Fair  as  the  skies, 
Maiden,  thou  art. 


64  Songs. 


WERE  there  in  the  whole  firmament  a  star, 
Outshone  its  fellows'  dimmer,  feebler  light, 

That  none  should  earlier  usher  from  afar 

The  first  pale  glimmer  from  the  eye  of  night ; 

Were  there  a  wave,  of  all  that  heave  and  sink 
Restless  and  ceaseless  on  the  ocean-plain, 

Foremost  to  clamber  up  the  craggy  brink, 
Dashed  in  ten  thousand  drops  of  briny  rain  * 

A  zephyr  were  there,  of  the  jocund  sprites 
That  flee  and  follow  through  the  paths  of  air, 

Fleetest  and  maddest  in  its  giddy  flights 
From  barren  peak  anon  to  valley  fair : 


Songs:  65 


That  zephyr  were  my  love,  O  love,  for  thee  ! 

Thou    the    fair    goal    my    light    breath    should 

pursue  ! 
N.ot  all  the  winds  of  heaven  might  vie  with  me, 

To  catch  thy  trace,  to  follow,  and  to  woo  ! 

I  were  that  wave,  and  thou  the  wishecl-for  shore, 
Whither  in  toilsome,  passionate  unrest 

This    heart    should    struggle,    till    its    throbbings 

bore 
A  tearful,  joyful  wanderer  to  thy  breast ! 

And  fain  would  I,  beloved,  be  that  star ; 

Even  unto  thee  as  Hesperus  to  Night  : 
First  by  thy  gray  eye  welcomed  from  afar, 

And  latest  lingering  in  its  winsome  light. 


66  Songs. 


HAVE,  then,  fate  and  time,  fulfilling;  their  un- 
changeable decree, 

Brought  the  dreaded  hour  that  calls  me,  thus  to 
part,  dear  girl,  from  thee  ? 

Life,  before  our  pathways  blended,  was  a  journey 
touched  with  gloom  : 

Now,  when  thine  I  share  no  longer,  mine  is  darker 
than  the  tomb. 

"  Friend,  if  on  thy  path  my  presence  shed  indeed 
a  cheering  ray, 

Then  esteem  as  gain  the  brighter,  kindlier  mo- 
ments of  the  way  : 

Does  the  traveller,  turning  quickened  from  the 
fount  whose  wavelets  pour 

Crystal  coolness  by  the  wayside,  leave  it  sadder 
than  before  ? " 


Songs.  67 

Ay,  —  when  fates  relentless  bid  him  turn  despair-' 

ingly  his  gaze 
From  the  only  green  oasis   in   the   desert   of  his 

days  ! 
Was  there  aught  of  hope  to  mingle  with  the  tears 

that  dimmed  the  eyes 
Of  our  common   parents,   sadly  wandering  down 

from  Paradise  ? 

"  Gentle  Hope  has  set  an  angel  in  the  gateway  of 

despair, 
With  uplifted  finger  warning  all  whose  steps  would 

enter  there : 
•*  Fly,'  he  said  (myself  have  heard  him) ;  '  fly,  nor 

cross  to  these  demesnes ; 
Fly  through  cloud  and  sea  and  forest ;  fly  beyond 

the  gates  of  dreams  ! ' ' 

Let  me  pass  their  portals,  widest  flung  to  those 

whose  lot  is  mine  ; 
Leading  to  the  weird  Lethean  realm  of  phantasy 

divine  ! 


68  Songs. 

Let  my  sleep  become  my  waking,  and  my  waking 
.be  my  sleep  ; 

And  thy  dream  its  snowy  pinion  round  my  slum- 
bering vigil  sweep ! 

"Ay,  —  and  when  thou  find'st  the  palace,  whence 

thy  better  genius  calls  ; 
And  hast  heard  the  mystic  voices  echoing  softly 

through  its  halls  : 
Send,  O  send   (some  heart  may  crave  it),  to  the 

question  send  reply, 
Whether  dying  be  not  living,  and  to  live  be  not 

to  die!" 

(Duet.) 

If  of  life  in  death  such  portion  dwells  as  dwells  of 

death  in  life, 
Then  are  such  as  we  immortal  :  mortal  only  prove 

the  strife 
'Twixt  what  might  be  and  what  must  be  ;   must 

but  once  the  funeral-knell 
Sigh,   as    sigh  the   broken-hearted  —  O    farewell, 

sweet  love,  farewell ! 


of 
IFQ' 
Songs.  69 


His  step  is  gone,  his  voice  is  still,  his  eye  seeks 

mine  no  more  ; 
And  yet  I  seem  to  see  and  hear  and  read  them,  as 

before  : 
An  echo  and  a  shadow  now,  where  glowed  and 

sparkled  then 
A  soul  whose  beams  will  never  warm  this  frozen 

heart  again. 

Thou  happy  streamlet,  rippling  by,  where  now  I 

stand  alone  : 
I    saw   thee    with  an  icy  pall  across  thy  bosom 

thrown  : 
No  hope  was  there  of  milder  skies,  no  dream  of 

any  Spring  ; 
And  still    I    heard  the  fond  refrain  of  vanished 

Summer  ring. 


70  %'  Songs. 

What  Earth  her  lovely  children  lends,  some  god 

has  granted  me  : 
Bound  by  cold  memory's  magic  song,  my  heart, 

O  burst  not  free ; 
Soothe  at  the  sources  of  the  past  the  pangs  of 

present  woe  ; 
O  tears  of  infinite  regret,  cease  not,  cease  not  to 

flow! 


Songs.  71 

COLUMBINE,  columbine, 
From  your  fragile  stem  depending, 
Lightly  o'er  the  torrent  bending 
With  quintuple  ruby-wrought  tiara 

And  golden  tassel  fine  : 
How  you  tempt  the  eye  to  linger, 

And  the  venturous  foot  to  climb, 
Tempt  the  quick-despoiling  finger, 
Columbine  ! 

Columbine,  columbine, 
You  shall  be  spared  —  for  a  season ; 
In  my  heart  I  know  the  reason 
Why  I  deem  you,  yes,  by  far  too  rare  a 

Prize  for  hand  of  mine : 
Tempt  a  fond  dark  eye  to  linger, 

And  a  gentler  foot  to  climb, 
Fall  before  the  loveliest  finger, 
Columbine ! 


72  Songs. 

As  that  smile,  that  glance,  that  fervor, 
As  this  passion  came  unsought, 

So  I  claim,  now  all  is  over, 
That  thou  too  forget  me  not. 

Then,  when  beams  thy  bridal  morning,  - 
Beams  for  him  who  wins  the  lot, — 

From  that  wreath  (if  this  my  warning 
Bid  thee  still  forget  me  not) 

By  fair  mates,  with  loving  visit, 
To  thy  trembling  fingers  brought, 

Save  for  me,  —  he  cannot  miss  it, — 
Save  a  dear  forget-me-not. 

It  shall  save  one  blooming  hour 

From  a  withering  age  of  thought  — 

O  my  lost,  my  broken  flower, 
O  forget,  forget  me  not ! 


Songs.  73 

METHOUGHT  I  stood  by  a  mountain  grand, 
And  the  sea  crept  up  to  its  flinty  strand. 

I  heard  no  sound  in  that  region  lone 
But  the  waves,  and  their  weary  monotone. 

The  mountain  moved,  as  it  were  in  sleep, 
And  stirred  the  waters  of  all  the  deep, 

And  a.  surge  swang  mightily  to  and  fro, 
And  now  rose  louder,  and  now  sank  low. 

Then  floated  the  ringing  tones  between 
Of  a  lyre,  swept  by  a  hand  unseen. 

Sweet  and  solemn  they  seemed  to  glide 
From  caverns  dark  in  the  mountain-side ; 

Till  the  billow  ceased  to  beat  at  the  shore, 
And  wearily  murmured  the  waves  as  before. 

But  long  in  my  ear  an  echo  rang 

Of  the  throe,  and  the  surge,  and  the  lyre's  clang. 


74  Songs. 


I  LOOKED  on  a  brimming  fountain, 
With  its  waters  upwelling  for  aye, 

They  were  black  in  the  shadow  of  even, 
They  were  bright  in  the  lustre  of  day. 

Not  a  flower  by  its  margent  mirrored, 

But  with  fairest  petal  smiled ; 
Not  a  bird  'neath  the  verdure,  but  warbled 

His  fondest  carol  wild. 

Each  wind  to  his  silent  hollow 

Had  sped,  with  a  murmur  low; 
While  the  wrinkled  hill-tops  glimmered 

In  the  sleepy  noonday  glow. 

A  maiden  knelt  with  a  ewer, 

From  the  limpid  source  to  fill, 
And  its  depths  they  were  strong  to  woo  her, 

That  she  gazed  with  a  transport  still. 


Songs.  75 

From  the  thirsty  forest-mazes 

A  chase-worn  huntsman  came, 
But  drank  not  —  for  the  spell  beguiled  him 

Of  a  rapture  he  could  not  name. 

And  they  seemed  to  wait,  and  to  wonder 
If  their  vision  should  vanish  away, 

As  I  looked  on  the  brimming  fountain, 
With  its  waters  upwelling  for  aye. 


SYMPOSIUM    METRICUM 


K\aSl 


TO 


SYMPOSIUM    METRICUM. 

T     O,  the  lot  and  number  mark 

Me  to  be  symposiarch ! 
Of  this  banquet  I  am  lord  ; 
Hear  me,  and  obey  my  word. 

Hear  me,  ye  whose  eye-light  glows 
Under  wreaths  of  bay  and  rose  ; 
Lips  that  curl  at  sound  of  mine, 
Moistened  by  the  god-sent  vine  : 

Clearest,  sweetest  chants  the  muse 
When  the  arm  of  Bacchus  wooes, 
With  ambrosial  fingers  pressed 
To  a  yet  diviner  breast. 


8o  Symposium. 

Then  the  trembling  passions  start 
From  the  barriers  of  the  heart; 
Then  the  thought  leaps  to  the  tongue. 
And  the  hope  dies  not  unsung. 

Genius  then  flings  out  a  beam 
From  his  bright,  ecstatic  dream  ; 
He  whom  fates  have  burthened  low 
Drops  one  fragment  of  his  woe. 

So  be  this  Euterpe's  hour ; 
Own  ye,  friend  to  friend,  her  power: 
Till  I  last  take  up  the  strain, 
And  we  crown  our  cups  again. 

Stiller,  stiller  —  palm  to  brow! 
As  I  let  the  myrtle-bough 
Cross  from  hand  to  hand  along, 
And  from  voice  to  voice  the  song. 


Symposium.  8 1 


WITH  the  bough  methought  a  spark 
Thrilled  me,  O  symposiarch, 
Of  the  soul  that  flashes  yet 
In  the  measures  thou  hast  set. 

Well  the  god  deserves  of  youth, 
If  he  drives  the  blade  of  truth 
Through  the  sordid  chains  that  bind 
Or  the  body,  or  the  mind ! 

Freedom  be  to  me  the  breath 
Of  the  life  I  owe  to  death  : 
Freedom,  won  with  groan  and  cheer 
In  the  tempest  of  the  spear! 

Freedom's  pledge  of  equal  aims, 
Equal  hopes,  and  equal  names  ; 
Freedom's  deep  and  deathless  tone, 
Echoing  round  each  despot's  throne. 


82  Symposium. 

Freedom,  mixed  with  every  thought 
Art  or  phantasy  has  wrought 
Into  shapes,  which  gave  to  see 
Signs  of  greater  shapes  to  be. 

Freedom,  marching  in  the  van 
Of  the  proud  advance  of  man, 
All  that  peace  and  wisdom  yield 
Mirrored  in  her  burnished  shield. 

Claims  a  free  hand  thus  the  right, 
Leafy  symbol  of  delight, 
Thee  thy  tuneful  way  to  send 
At  the  hilted  weapon's  end  ! 


Symposium.  83 


Is  there  aught  in  glittering  steel, 
Moves  an  awe-struck  heart  to  feel 
What  the  heights,  the  depths,  attained 
By  the  will  of  man  unchained  ? 

His  all-reaching  ken  profound 
Air  nor  sea  avails  to  bound  ; 
Cave  nor  wilderness,  to  rest 
Trackless  of  his  cunning  quest. 

From  the  wave  he  lifts  the  pearl, 
O'er  whose  hinged  casket  whirl 
Whelming  eddies,  through  the  dim 
Grottoes  of  the  trident-king. 

Wide  on  billowy  paths  and  far 
Flies  for  him  the  sail-winged  car, 
Points  him  many  a  nameless  strand, 
Sunset-realms  of  wonder-land. 


84  Symposium. 

Earth  her  buried  treasure-room 
Opes  to  him,  and,  from  the  gloom 
Of  its  niches  dank  and  cold, 
Beams  the  tempting  blush  of  gold. 

In  her  vaults  of  marble-vein 
Delves  his  hand,  to  rear  the  fane  :  — 
Saffron  gleams  of  Eos  lave 
Peristyle  and  architrave  ! 

Now  to  evil,  now  to  good 
Tends  the  soul,  with  fitful  mood  : 
Here,  to  dust  low-fluttering  —  there, 
To  fair  ether  soaring  fair ! 


Symposium.  85 


HAPPY  they,  whose  acts  fulfil 
Not  some  earthly  mistress'  will  : 
Who  but  Wisdom's  bidding  hear, 
Her  immortal  anger  fear ! 

Them  no  longer,  passion-racked, 
Fickle-witted  whims  distract : 
Wisdom's  nomes  harmonious  all 
From  her  silver  plectrum  fall. 

Me  the  piny  wreath  lures  not, 
Over  Isthmian  courses  sought  ; 
Not  the  loud  Olympian  meed, 
Earned  by  fiery-footed  steed. 

Not  the  wrestler's  firm  renown 
Sways  my  fealty  to  a  crown 
Wrung  from  pleasure,  pride,  and  pelf 
In  the  struggle  of  myself. 


86  Symposium. 

Stand  not  I  to  argue  it 
Where  the  gaping  many  sit : 
Not  with  smooth,  obsequious  plea 
Wise  to  seem,  but  wise  to  be ! 

What  the  vain  mob  vaunts  to  know, 
Wisdom  proves  with  question  slow ; 
While  the  quick-tongued  rhetor  prates, 
Wisdom  ponders,  wisdom  waits. 

While  their  factions  rub  and  fret, 
While  their  empires  rise  and  set, 
Wisdom  fares  her  patient  way 
With  the  torch  that  shines  for  aye. 


Symposium.  87 

BEST  beyond  a  holier  sphere 
Loves  my  charmed  eye  to  peer 
Of  the  flight  from  age  to  age : 
Rose  the  minstrel  ere  the  sage. 

Rose  with  sounding  harp  of  praise, 
Strung  to  themes  of  ancient  days, 
Deeds  heroic  to  rehearse, 
Rolled  in  torrent-mocking  verse. 

Rose  with  lute,  and  faltering  line 
Of  a  threnody  divine, 
When  new  anguish,  welling  fast, 
Dimmed  his  vision  of  the  past. 

Rose  with  staid,  majestic  mien 
On  the  throng-beholden  scene, 
There  to  teach  what  issues  bide 
Blood-besprinkled  ways  of  pride. 


88  Symposium. 

All  that  drips  from  calm  or  care 
Poesy  in  chalice  rare 
Pours,  and  blends  the  world  of  light 
With  the  mystic  world  of  night. 

Many  a  tranquil  chord  has  rung 
Through  the  dirge  of  Ilium  ; 
Many  a  paean,  strong  to  save, 
Echoed  from  Cocytus'  wave. 

When  Death  consecrates  his  own, 
Poesy,  with  votive  stone, 
Still  her  gentle  tribute  brings, 
Still  the  muse  of  memory  sings. 


Symposium.  ~  89 

COMES  to  me  the  myrtle  ?     Now 
Softly  be  enshrined  the  bough !    • 
Now  love's  hymn  let  me  attune, 
Whom  love's  emblem  brings  the  boon. 

Sweet  may  ring  your  gleeful  rhyme, 
High  the  cnant  of  freedom  chime, 
But  the  songs  that  pierce  the  graves 
Are  the  songs  of  Eros'  slaves. 

In  their  words  a  crisping  flame, 
In  their  tones  a  winsome  shame, 
In  their  cadences  a  sigh 
As  of  leaves,  whose  fall  is  nigh. 

Dire,  invincible  the  works 
Of  the  potent  god  who  lurks 
By  rude  fold,  or  gilded  hall, 
On  his  hapless  prey  to  fall ! 


go  Symposium. 

Sudden-vengeful  ire  who  wreaks 
From  his  lair  of  virgin  cheeks, 
Haunts  the  curve  of  comely  limbs, 
'Neath  the  misty  eyelid  swims. 

Swift,  his  supplicants  to  spurn 
Whilst  at  altar's  marge  they  burn 
Incense  of  regretful  years, 
With  a  litany  of  tears. 

Eros'  branch  has  done  the  round  : 
See  !  —  to  Eros'  statue  bound, 
Droops  its  green  —  the  while  we  hark 
To  thy  lay,  symposiarch. 


Symposium.  91 

HELLAS,  Hellas,  lo,  I  bring 
Thee  the  lay  I  rise  to  sing! 
Gods  and  heroes,  lend  my  voice 
Numbers  worthy  of  the  choice  ! 

Hellas,  first  in  name  of  thee 
Brave  men  swore  they  would  be  free  : 
First,  then,  in  thy  cup  be  poured 
Crimson  glories  of  the  sword. 

In  thy  praise  resounded  high 
Music,  born  of  sea  and  sky : 
Wreathe  I,  so,  this  rim  along 
Flowers  of  never-dying  song. 

Of  the  nations,  Hellas,  thine 
Beauty  chose,  to  hold  her  shrine  : 
Here  in  ruby  waves  I  trace 
Memories  of  the  fairest  face. 


92  Symposium. 

Pledge  me  now  the  triple-crowned, 
If  of  love  ye  know  the  sound, 
If  the  trumpet,  if  the  lyre 
Sets  the  heart  of  youth  on  fire ! 

Drink  to  Hellas,  as  she  stands, 
Hellas,  Hellas,  land  of  lands ; 
Drink  to  art  and  eloquence, 
All  that  speaks  to  mind  or  sense  ; 

Drink  to  words  of  law  and  right, 
Drink  to  liberty  and  light, 
Drink  to  beauty,  drink  to  fame, 
Drink  to  an  immortal  name ! 


UNIVERSITY   OF    CALIFORNIA 
LIBRARY 

This  is  the  date  on  which  this 
book  was  charged  out. 

DATE.1 


JAr 


[30ra-6,'ll] 


Flagg  131092 

tPed&rrtic  VelrsLeles 


Jan  17   1912 


953 


Zlf. 


I  p 


